


Chasing Winter

by davemats95



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: College of Winterhold - Freeform, Coming of Age, Fugitives, Homelessness, M/M, Magic Explained, Politics, Sexual Assault, The Companions - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-18 04:05:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1414423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/davemats95/pseuds/davemats95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Does anyone ever wonder what the Dragonborn was doing on Skyrim's border?<br/>Anton was one of the many street rats trying to survive in the still-ruined Imperial City. His one, burning ambition—to get enough money to leave the slums and make a new life for himself. Watch as his dream becomes a nightmare, and Anton is sent hurtling for a date with destiny in Skyrim.<br/>Or: The scariest border crossing ever<br/>Or: The story of a Breton with a smart-mouth trying to get those pesky Thalmor off his back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Currently looking for a beta reader

Anton Boncoeur: A Beginning

 

Once upon a time, there was a small town in High Rock known as Grandchat.

Though High Rock was in a state of constant war, Grandchat had three features that made it a wonderful place to live.

The first was that it had no more resources than was needed to feed the mouths of its inhabitants. The second was that it was in the middle of nowhere (and was nowhere on the path to anything). The third was that many a Comte (the hereditary leader of Grandchat) had taken great pains to reinforce the town's strong defensive walls.

In short: Grandchat had nothing of use, was not on the way to anything of use, and the grand heap of nothing was hard to invade. Logically, no one bothered. And so the people of Grandchat lived peacefully under the rule of a Comte Boncoeur—and occasionally a Comtesse Boncoeur—for many a generation…until the Warp of the West.

The Aedric gods had once again walked in Highrock and, where there were once a hundred squabbling kingdoms, there were now only five. The town inhabitants awoke to find the Boncoeur Manor gone, with a handsome home in its place. The home's (less handsome) inhabitant was the town mayor, who no one could ever remember voting for.

In another odd happenstance—a shack had come up over night, in it, a man and a woman named Pierre and Marianne Boncoeur.

The couple was well liked and respected and, as a result, soon grew out of their squalor. Many women noticed that they felt the need to call Marianne comtesse—though why that was and what a comtesse even was they had no idea.

As the years passed the couple proved to be barren and had no children. And yet, the elders of the town could remember a smiling green-eyed boy, and Marianne on occasion would weep with great pain, not remembering who she grieved for.

Many years in the future, in the Imperial City, a small green eyed boy named Anton appeared before a statue of Akatosh. That he did not disappear shortly thereafter for a mundane reason was itself a miracle.

The Imperial City Proper had once been the jewel of the empire. The gleaming Imperial Palace sat at its center. From it, twelve walls emanated like spokes on a wheel. At the ends of each spoke were the watchtowers— which allowed the City Watch to move quickly from one side of a wall to another, as well as to spot enemies from outside the city limits.

Between each pair of walls stood the districts, cities unto themselves, with their own purposes and characters. Gates the height of ten men standing and the width of six lying down, allowed citizens to move freely between the districts and the palace.

Everywhere one turned, one could see the wealth of the Empire on display—in the beautiful buildings, in the goods flaunted by merchants and the jewels worn by the women, even the many races and colors of the city were a form of wealth.

Then came disaster. Or perhaps it would be better to say several.

Within seventeen years of the year zero of the fourth era, the city survived a Daedric (demonic) invasion, four rulers (two of which were assassinated and one usurped), and the massive loss of wealth and prestige as the Empire shrank.

The final blow came from the Aldmeri Dominion. The Altmer, or High Elves, had long viewed themselves (and to a lesser extent other elven races), as superior to humans. With the Empire only starting to rebuild under the new Mede Emperors, the elves seceded from the Empire and began the Great War. Their goal—to put humanity in its rightful place beneath them.

The elves were eventually fought to an uneasy peace, but not before they angrily pillaged and destroyed the humanity's capitol.

To this day, only the palace grounds have been rebuilt completely. The wealthy who survived the invasion live into the Elven Gardens district, which (for reasons somewhat self-evident) remains mostly intact.

Sometimes... with the City Watch out on patrol (helped by hired mercenaries), the residents even felt safe.

The same can not be said for other Districts. The City is a society interrupted. The elves had flattened enough houses that there is nowhere to live. Too many have been slaughtered to make headway in the massive rebuilding effort. The lucky sleep in the husks of old homes, the unlucky, on the grass of the Arboretum. The chaos of the Empire has made trade sporadic and traders wary of coming. The wealth pouring in from the rest of the empire seems to grow smaller every year.

The Imperial City is a corpse that refuses to draw its final breath. Here there is no hope, no reform, no tomorrow—only a sniveling pretension to old glory. 

It is in this city that Anton appeared. If he had been taken in by the Thieves Guild or some priests in the temple district, his story would have been very different.

His lot was far worse. He stumbled from place to place, his luck preventing him from staying in the clutches of those who would truly harm him. Being a smart boy, he learned how to use tearful eyes and pretty words to get what he needed. He would learn that remaining unseen could be more valuable than any handout of food or cloth.

Eventually, he learned how to take from those he could not convince, and how to fight those who would take from him. The small shank he carried had saved him more than once from street urchins like himself—as well as more unsavory characters.

Anton lived like this for many years until the age of seventeen. He was not an unhappy boy. Through all of his troubles, one thing kept him afloat. He had  a dream—that one day he would gathher enough gold to move far north, to the undamaged cities of the empire—to Chorrol, Cheydinhal, or even Bruma.

Unlike many dreams, it was not an unrealistic one. In fact, he was getting very close to his goal. All he needed was one more job...

-x-

            Oh so very gently, I fiddle with the locks on the watchtower. So many who tried to get into the Garden District thought going through the gates and making a run for it was a good idea.

How stupid of them. It calls too much attention, and even if you can slip out of the guards view, they know to launch a search. The watchtowers, on the other hand, are a much easier route.

The guards inside don’t expect a sneak thief to be dumb enough to walk into a building teeming with them. They feel too safe in their home to look for an enemy.

            I breathe a sigh of relief as the lock turns. It looks like this set might last. Lock picks are starting to become rare, and I have no idea where I’ll find my next supplier.

Inside, I meet no guards, but the sounds of laughter and clinking mugs above me suggest they're a few upstairs. I waste no time getting into the Imperial City’s finest neighborhood.

            I pull out the clothes in my pack and start changing the moment I find a dark corner. Stealing clothes from the market district was one of my better ideas. Appearances are, after all, the most important thing in life. When someone yells, ‘Help thief!’ will the Watch be looking for someone who looks and sounds like the son of a nobleman, or are they going to look for a teenager in ill-fitting rags?

            With my impromptu makeover done, I step out of the shadows and go on my way. I’ll smile at a person here and there, occasionally working my hand into a pocket for a few septims.

The road to the recently opened Drake hotel proves profitable.

As I walk through the lobby and up to the guest area, no one gives me a second glance. My getup is doing its job perfectly.

            I decide to target a room on the southern side of the building. The south side has a view of the small park outside, and probably brings in clients with the most coin. I can only rob the Drake once; afterwards security might be through the roof for the next five years. There’s no way I’m settling for a small haul.

            I have a good feeling about one door in particular, so I check for witnesses before crouching down and getting to work on the lock. The door costs me ten lock picks, but I still have to hold back a whoop of joy when it opens. The room is huge and filled with jewels, furs, and wines—perfect. I gleefully stuff my ill gotten gains in my pack…before it all goes wrong.

            “Well hello there,” says a tinkling, high voice. I feel a touch on my shoulder as ice begins to crawl along my spine. My muscles lock up quickly and I fall over like a log. A grinning Altmer stands above me. The door is wide open. For a moment, I wonder how exactly this elf lady managed to sneak up behind me, but the quiet, graceful movements she makes as she glides back to the door and locks it answers the question.

            With a wave of her hand I start floating, which is a really bad sign. Mages don’t exactly pop up left and right in the slums, so I have no idea what she’s capable of. She waves her hand again, and I fall a few feet before landing on her bed.

            “A human thief, how delightful!” says the elf before a wispy dagger appears in her hand. Oh god she’s going to gut me. I try to move, to scream—anything, but it’s no use.

            “Now, now, don’t be so difficult.” She touches me again and the icy feeling in my spine returns. She brings the blade to my neck. Just as I think it’s the end, she slices her knife downward. There is no blood or pain, just pressure, as she cuts apart my shirt.

            “Much too dirty for these clothes…you stole them didn’t you? Hmm, rather finely built though, you must be a clever sneak to eat so well.” She glides her ethereal knife over the ridges of muscle and I feel a chill that has nothing to do with her magic. Carefully she slices and removes every stitch of my clothing before gagging me with a strip of fabric. Each limb is tied to a bed post before she lets her paralysis spell fall.

            “Do you know what I do for a living Breton? No? I work for the Thalmor embassy. It’s really boring, a lot of meaningless paperwork. Not that you’d understand having a job,” says the Altmer with a good spirited laugh. This woman was crazy.

“Anyway, I absolutely hate it. The pay is nice and all, but nothing can compare with what I got up to in the First War.” A blood red flame springs to life in her palm.

“Can you guess what it was?” she says before slamming her palm into my chest.

OH GODS! _I’m so afraid, I have to move. The ropes won’t go! My heart…it’s beating so fast. Everything is…OH GODS OH GODS OH GODS!_

“Are you nervous human? Here!” A white light bathes over me and the terror stops. Everything is wonderful, and I’m so calm.

“You know humans are really only pretty when they want to scream. Shame you’re a Breton. What I wouldn’t give for an imperial…”

I don’t understand what she means, probably something great… until she starts again with the blood red flames. But then comes the white light. Red, white, red, white, over and over again.

“Aren’t I so clever—so delicious and not even a mark. I don’t really need blood—that’s more of Volenare’s thing. How he loves to be the first to make a cut…” Her words trail off but she keeps going— long after I stop trying to pull free, long after my tears dry up. When I’m not under the dulling effect of that white light I realize she’s caressing me, playing with me. It won’t matter soon. With every round I feel my heart race faster and faster, until it suddenly it doesn’t—it even starts to slow. My body is giving up; I’m actually going to die! The Altmer eases on her spell work to reach for my crotch. _Please,_ I plead, _someone, anyone, anything, HELP!_

The first sign is the widened eyes of my captor, the second is a growl. Then there is blood. A wolf unreal and glowing, made of the same substance as the Altmer’s dagger, leaps—and then the elf no longer has a throat. She doesn’t even have time to scream. Just as quickly the wolf’s bloody maw fills my vision. I flinch and… nothing. I open my eyes to find that the wolf steps around me, using his teeth to make quick work of the binds on my hands before doing the same for my feet. As quickly as the wolf appears, it vanishes.

I shakily sit up, not understanding exactly what has happened. From my new position I have a good view of my captor. She doesn’t look afraid, or pained. Only the elegant arch of her brows betrays her surprise. Her gold spun hair lies artfully around her skull. She is golden everywhere, from her skin to her eyes, to her clothes, like a glowing idol—except where she isn’t gold. Around her throat there is only ruby red blood, and as she bleeds, the red consumes the gold. Her pool of blood almost reaches me before I leap off the bed in horror.

Barely able to breathe, I go for my pack; pulling out the rags I normally wear—desperate to not be naked. In only manage to pull on my pants before I hear a sickeningly happy “Alinell my love, it is me.”

An Altmer man comes in. He takes one look at the she-elf, and screams in horror. Then he sees me. His eyes look anguished, broken even, but then they fill with a strange fire and I know that whatever She (apparently Alinell) did, this guy will be worse. Not even caring if I survive the fall I grab my things and jump out the window.

The next few days are a blur of running. In the little time I have after the Altmer raises the alarm, I run past the gates into the Market District. The guards are far more concerned with keeping people _out_ of the Elven Gardens district than _in_ it.

* * *

 

In the Market District I get no rest. City Watchmen fill the streets like they never have before. Guards check each person coming in and out of the District one by one. The wanted posters for my arrest are amazingly accurate. I wonder if they used magic to refresh the high elf’s memory?

It is only my penchant for disguises that saves me. I spend the three days wearing a raggedy dress and a blond wig. My shoulders are too broad to make this a good disguise, but sticking to the shadows helps.

Glimpses of the dull armor of the Legion ruin my days, and the gold of the Thalmor haunt my nights. I sleep for at most twenty minutes at a time before I have to move in a desperate rush. The search for me eases up eventually, but rumors speak of new, more drastic measures being taken soon. This might be my last chance to get help.

Just before dawn, I make my way through an alley to Lucia’s door.

I had met the imperial woman maybe five years ago, funnily enough, while pick pocketing her. She caught me, and thought I was adorable. Gunnar, her Nord husband, did not, which is probably why she couldn’t adopt me.

Still, she insisted on teaching me to read, and since the lessons involved her giving me free food, I went along with it.

The woman opens the door on the third knock. After quickly rushing me in to avoid attracting trouble, I become the cause of a whispered screaming match (how _typical)_.

Gunnar claims that by showing up here I'm endangering him and Lucia both. I figure he's probably right. I still don't like his solution of handing me over before the City Watch arrests them for aiding and abetting. Lucia argues that I'm a good person (which I don’t agree with), and that guilty or not, no one deserves the tender mercies of the Thalmor (which I do agreed with).

“Look we should at least hear his story!” yells Lucia. Gunnar, used to not getting anywhere with his wife concedes.

“Fine let the street rat talk—after he puts on some normal clothes” he growled. Looking down at my dress I can’t avoid blushing.

After a shower and a change of clothes, Lucia is trying not to laugh as I dump my dress in the trash. It’s ruined anyway.

“I’m surprised that disguise worked,” she says.

“If anything,” grunts Gunnar, “the Watch should have locked you up for being too ugly to be free.”

“Ha ha,” I say as Lucia hands me a cup of tea.

We sit and drink for a moment before Lucia says “Well, tell us how you got in this mess.”

I don’t bother lying about my reason for being in the Drake Hotel—Gunnar and Lucia know me too well. When I get to what Alinell did to me and what the result was, I have to put down my tea cup. I’m shaking too much. Gunnar’s great blond brows are drawn together, lips are curled in disgust. I notice that like me, he is also trembling. Lucia just looks like she might burst into tears, but she clasps my hand and helps me keep talking. Occasionally she puts a hand on Gunnar’s shoulder.

“I didn’t even do it! It was that wolf. I still have no idea how it came or… What!” Gunnar goes from looking enraged to completely incredulous. Lucia just looks sad.

“Is he kidding us?” said Gunnar.

“He might not know. He’s an orphan, and there are so few Bretons in the city nowadays. Who would tell him?” At this Gunnar grew quiet before facing me.

“Look kid…Anton, there’s a good reason for the Thalmor and the Watch to blame you. Once a witness said you were a Breton, and they found traces of an attack by a wild animal—they knew you were guilty.”

“But how is that fair, the wolf—”

“All Bretons can summon wolf familiars to come to their aid. Like all racial powers it doesn’t get talked about much, but I saw it used often enough by Bretons in the Great War.”

“Shit! ... I guess I did kill her.”

“Aye,” says Gunnar. “Now we need to figure out how to get you out of the city.” I’m surprised by Gunnar’s sudden desire to help me, as is Lucia, from what I can tell.

“Don’t look at me like that! The Altmer bitch had it coming. Besides...a Thalmor dungeon is no place for a boy, even if he’s a street rat.”

“Thanks,” I say. I choose not to point out how much his argument sounds like his wife’s but I’m too thankful to do so.

“We can’t get him out through the gates. And the walls can’t be climbed. The sewers are the only choice.”

“Gunnar, that’s madness,” said Lucia.

It is madness. There was more than one way to disappear in the Imperial City. According to some, one  was to be grabbed by the mysterious, pale men living beneath the city.

“It would be madness to stay.”

 _Where would I even go?_ I wonder.

* * *

 

Gunnar tells me to leave Cyrodiil. Alinell was apparently the Thalmor ambassador’s lover. The man would turn all of Tamriel upside to look for me and he would be doing it for a long time. There is no province of the Empire where the Thalmor have greater sway than Cyrodiil. The provinces controlled by the Aldmeri Dominion (Valenwood, Alinor, and Elseweyr) are right out for obvious reasons. And Morrowind and Blackmarsh are not the best ideas because I would stick out like a sore thumb. Hammerfell isn’t part of the Empire and it’s strongly anti-Thalmor, but it has an extradition treaty with the Empire, and a pale Breton appearing among the Redguard is too suspicious. In High Rock, I would be surrounded by Bretons, but the paperwork to function in Breton society is too involved to allow me to keep my cover.

Skyrim is the only choice

Lucia convinces me to let her sell whatever I managed to steal to pay for supplies. I hand over the loot in my pack with great regret. I spend the day in a closet with a bookcase pushed against it, in case the Watch comes calling. It's hot, and I am thirsty and hungry, but I’m used to being uncomfortable and I prefer this to being caught. Thankfully, no one unexpected comes, and it is Gunnar (not a City Watchman) who pushes aside the bookshelf. Lucia stands, concerned with water and food and I have never been so glad to see her. As we eat, Lucia pulls out a new pack with a strange sheen.

“As you travel, you’ll need to carry many things safely and easily. A lot of your gold went to getting this from an old friend in the Temple district. It’s water-proof and has an old charm to hold more belongings than can normally fit in it. It won’t reduce weight however, so be careful. It also has a charm to prevent it from being seized. People may grab everything in your bag, but the bag itself won’t be stolen.”

“I’m supposed to believe that,” I say, disgusted at Lucia’s waste of money. Without a word Lucia gets up, picks up her coat rack with little difficulty and drops it into the much smaller pack. The rack completely disappears.

“Wow. Umm, never mind, thank you for this.” Lucia smiles and pulls the rack out again, before pulling some more odds and ends out of the bag.

“I got a map of Tamriel, some lock picks, food for a few days, and furs for sleeping. I got you this archery set and a dagger. They’re not very good quality, but they were the best I could get—sorry.”

“Don’t day sorry, this is much more than I thought you would get. Thank you,” I say with complete honesty. This woman could have handed me over and grabbed my loot at any time. If she didn’t want trouble from me she could have gotten me complete junk, and kept the gold. These supplies couldn’t have been cheap or easy to find. Lucia was amazing.

“It’s just that I don’t know whether I should have gotten you better weapons or these—” Lucia pulls out five gleaming blue bottles.

“We’ve all heard stories of vampires beneath the city. I’ve been told that vampirism starts out as a disease like any other. If you come in contact with vampires, drink one of these. In fact you should drink one for every two days in the sewers; you never know what you might pick up.”

This was—“Thank you so much…” I pull Lucia in for a hug. We separate at Gunnar’s impatient grunt.

“‘Nough of that,” says Gunnar, unrolling a map of the Imperial City sewers. “I picked this up at work today.” Gunnar was an overseer on the project to rebuild the Septim District (once called the Talos District). That’s why he and Lucia can afford a home, even if it’s in the Market District. It also left him in a position to access plans from the city.

“No one should miss this for a while. Yer heading for Skyrim so you need to head north towards Bruma and then get through the mountain passes. Avoid the roads, though small villages should be safe enough if yer desperate. The bridge is being watched, so once you get past the City Wall, you’ll need to swim.”

“Swim?”

“Yes boy. I’m sure you’ve swam through the waterfront with the other rats often enough to know how to do it.”

“Gunnar!” says Lucia.

“What? It’s the truth.” He turns back to me. “The Market Sewers can be accessed from the south-east. From there you’ll need to find the entrance to the North tunnel here,” Gunnar marks a spot on the map, “which drains water into lake Rumare on the north side of the isle. Then after a swim you're free to move.”

With the maps and gear in front of me, my situation suddenly hits home. I’m leaving the City, leaving home, forever. I’ll never see the gleaming white-gold tower piercing the sky, the faded grey bricks of once stately homes, and the wild hidden gardens and secret streets. I’d never be in this place, where you could be invisible in a sea of people, free to be yourself because no one cared to look at a mask. I’d never see Lucia and Gunnar again. I’ve dreamt of leaving all my life, and now I want nothing more than to stay.

Despite the danger, Lucia and Gunnar see me off. Lucia checks to make sure I bring everything while Gunnar works to get the manhole open. While a last hug from Lucia and a handshake from Gunnar, I climb down into the darkness.

* * *

            “He’s going to die,” says Gunnar.

            “Don’t say something like that!” says Lucia.

            “What—you think I want that to happen?” For once, Lucia notes, Gunnar doesn’t look absolutely thrilled with something horrible happening to Anton. He looks miserable.

            “For a long time I though you did.” Gunnar growls. He’s such a typical brute, but Lucia finds it more amusing than repellant.

            “It always surprised me that you were so cruel to him. I’d never seen you treat anyone else like that. I’d have took him in years ago if I didn’t think you might do him harm.”

            “And you were right to do so,” says Gunnar, not even able to meet my eyes. “I couldn’t stand it…you replacing our boy.”

            “I was not replacing him! Wulfryk could never be replaced. I think about him every night, every time I hear a child laughing, every time I have a moment’s peace. Anton wasn’t Wulfryk, he was a boy who needed help…still needs help.”

            “And you were right. I admit it. Are you happy?” My Nord husband, always a giant, a man who hadn’t been young for a while now, suddenly seemed a chastened child—and we both felt ashamed. For how can I blame him, when I didn’t fight harder for Anton? What had happened to me, what happened to the woman who would have marched up to her husband and said ‘either the boy stays, or I leave.’

            “No I’m not happy, and I don’t know when I will be,” I say. “Now come on let’s head to the Temple District. Only the gods can help the boy now


	2. The Imperial Sewers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton climbs down the rabbit whole in his bid to escape. What what does he find below the city and beyond?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:  
> This chapter has been changed from the original form, to better reflect the hunted mentality Anton is experiencing

Chapter 1: The Imperial Sewer

            The sewer is a trap.

My last sight of the Imperial City is Gunnar’s face before the manhole lid closes above me with a soft click. As I climb down, the smell of raw sewage becomes over-powering. Everyone knows that sewers are full of piss water and crap, and everyone knows that this combination smells terrible. What no one can understand without experiencing it, is the magnitude. It’s the result of thousands—eating, drinking, _living_ , and the inevitable waste such things produce. The stench almost becomes sublime in its sheer foulness.

            I reach the bottom to find myself in a small room. Thankfully I’m alone—unfortunately, where there should be a door on my map is a solid gate of steel. I scramble back up the ladder to tell Gunnar that the plan is a bust. When I try pushing open the lid, it refuses to budge. I try yelling, and when that gets no result, I bang on it with my fists. My blows fail to make even the softest noise.

Of course, I realize, with all the rumors—these must be designed to only open from the outside, and muffle the sound of anything…unusual.

            I consume what little food and water Lucia gave me. Eating is almost like a form of torture. It’s a constant battle not to vomit from the smell and make a complete waste of the meal. I lose any real sense of time. I call anytime I sleep night and anytime I can’t sleep day.

In the beginning, I’m kept calm by the thought that, _this is too ridiculous, this can’t be happening, it’s sort of funny_. This lasts only until I fall asleep and my next day is spent in tears, from the smell, the boredom, the sheer unfairness. I’ve been crying too often recently. I really can’t care anymore, a man’s entitled to a few tears when he knows he’s dying.

            The next time I wake up in the sewers I am thirsty and dizzy and feel as if I had been bathed in slime fouler than anything on Nirn. There’s a note on my chest that turns my veins turn to ice.

_Dear Blood Sack,_

_Thank you for the convenient snack. I usually have to come up top to eat so well. I’ve done you the favor of leaving the gate open. I must be honest—I considered keeping you on hand and nicely trapped. However, I can find more cattle easily enough and I would hate to risk spending eternity with someone so stupid and pathetic._

_Yours,_

_C_

            I look for (and find)my pack, with its blue bottles still inside. I chug one down trying not to panic. The potion is sweet and acidic, though grassy. I’m still dizzy, but the slimy feeling and thirst fade. I try not to think about what that means too much.

            Apparently, ‘C’ did open up the metal gate. I suppose I even owe the 'man' a favor. I rush out of the room as quickly as possible and follow Gunnar’s map.

            I find the North Tunnel easily enough, though staying unharmed on it is more difficult. After I’m attacked by my second mudcrab, I take great pleasure in back-stabbing the vermin from the shadows. I find that, unfortunately, the North Tunnel is separated into two sections, and that the part closest to the exit is filled with bandits. I suppose that few people would want to chase small-time bandits into a sewer, and it would definitely throw off scent hounds.

The bandits patrol the raised platforms and bridges above the river of sewage that drains into Lake Rumare. I can either fight the well-armed criminals in an attempt to stay clean or I can swim in the river of excrement below and avoid them completely. Naturally, I choose the human excrement.

            It’s nighttime when I get out of the sewer—and the city, mostly unharmed, if no longer able to smell. In my state, this is probably a good thing. I spend some time taking a breather and feeling the joy of being outside after so long. Then I have to get past my next challenge

            One thing that should be known about the Imperial City is that it’s literally in the middle of everything.

It’s located in the province of Cyrodiil, which is in the middle of the continent of Tamriel. Not happy with just that, the city is also in the middle of an island—which is itself perfectly smack-dab in the middle of the massive Lake Rumare.

The City’s island location means I have to cross water if I want to get anywhere. I suppose I could cross the one bridge off the City Isle to the west, but it’s constantly patrolled—not an option. So yay—more swimming for me.

 

            The swim quickly becomes terrifying. When Gunnar had planned my escape he assumed that as someone young, strong, and desperate, I would be able to swim safely to shore. I am still young and desperate, but I’m also anemic from blood loss and hunger. Though the wind is with me—and I am definitely swimming—there are times when I feel that the northern shore isn’t getting any closer. My arms first grow sore, then pained, and then leaden and burning. It’s only the thought of what waits for me if I turn back or give up that keeps me going.

            When I finally pull myself onto the shore I thank the nine divines for the first time in a while (might as well thank Talos too if the Thalmor will kill me anyway).

I notice a strange taste in my mouth. I realize that it isn’t strange at all—my mouth just no longer constantly tastes of shit.

            Not looking forward to what I’ll find, I open Lucia’s ‘magical’ pack. I’m relieved to see that the rucksack lives up to her promises, and the contents are as dry and clean as they ever were. I drink a second potion of Cure Disease and notice a certain queasiness vanishing. Absolutely exhausted, I still have the presence of mind to pull myself into some bushes and out of sight before falling asleep.

-x-

            The eastern and western shores of the lake are sandy, flat, wooded, and easy to navigate. Unfortunately, I’m heading north.

The northern shore of Lake Rumare is hedged-in by a plateau known as the ‘The Colovian High Lands.’ Colovia is itself, a large region, covering half of Cyrodiil. It’s also appropriately named. The path from the shore inland is long and steep. I start climbing the moment I wake up (at dawn). By the time I’m done, the sun is once again low in the sky. The sight at the top is a form of cruelty from the nine—a quaint little building with a sign proclaiming it to be ‘Roxy’s Inn: The Home of the Finest Steak and Ale in the Heartlands’.

I’ve gone a long time without food in the past. I’m pretty sure it’s a combination of being vampire chow and my swim last night that is making me so desperate to eat. The small troop of legionnaires passing in and out of the inn, of course, convinces me that I need to move on.

 It’s so strange to see them in an untarnished, red-lined version of the legion armor worn in the city. I guess that in the City Watch needs clothing that lets them come close to a perp without calling attention, while soldiers need a way to tell friend from foe. Either way, it doesn’t matter, I still need to get through without calling attention.

My map says that if I follow the road west, it’ll eventually turn north towards Bruma. I do head west, but cut north into the forest the moment the inn is out of sight. I walk for about an hour before hunger convinces me to try something new—hunting deer instead of people.

I pull out the flimsy looking bow and arrows Lucia gave me. My tendency to step lightly proves useful in the forest, and I quickly meet my first mark—a large buck munching calmly on some greens a few feet away from me. It looks like my luck has finally turned around. Rather clumsily, I draw my bow and take aim. I fire, and succeed in hitting the tree next to the deer. He turns to face me, and I string another bow in preparation for his escape. He doesn’t flee. Instead, the buck charges at me as if possessed and in my shock, I drop the bow and run.

A glimpse over my shoulder reveals bloodshot eyes and a foaming mouth. Somehow the animal I tried to shoot has rabies. _Just help me please, before I get mauled by a deer_. This time I feel a tingle in my palms before I hear the howl. I turn to see the same ethereal wolf as before, _my familiar,_ savaging the deer.

            The deer is in a sorry state. My wolf has ripped off large chunks of its flesh, and the amount of blood is ridiculous, but the buck won’t drop dead. After minutes pass with no result, I help kill it in the best way I know—sneaking behind it and stabbing my dagger where its spine meets its skull. It drops instantly. I wonder whether to actually eat the clearly diseased deer, but think _‘What the hell, I’ve got a few more potions anyway.’_

            It’s not my first time building a fire. At some point, I became too old for strangers to trust me around their campfires. That was when I learned what the trees in the Arboretum were really for.

            As I start gathering twigs and finding dead wood my wolf companion fails to vanish as he did before. He doesn’t really do much; just watch me go back and forth. I get the fire going and take a seat on a spare log. I glance at the wolf and pat at the spot next to me. Without a sound, it pads over and takes a seat. I admire the flames for a moment before deciding to get to business.

            Getting up again, I walk over to the fallen deer and use my dagger to carve out a large chunk of meat. The meat is gamey and tough to cut; blood sprays everywhere, but after swimming in sewage, I could care less about hygiene. I spear the meat with a long thin branch before coming back to my fire and slowly rotating it over the flame. The wolf, rather strangely, seems not to even notice the slowly cooking meat. He has eyes only for our surroundings, and I wonder nervously if he’s expecting enemies. I turn to check on my meal, and when I turn back he’s gone.

            The sun has been down for maybe the past half hour. This far from the City, I can actually see stars. I can see shapes start to form in the sky, and I understand for the first time why people insist on grouping them in constellations. I turn to my meat, sipping it down with my potion. There is no point in moving tonight, blind to my path. There are no city lights to guide my path, and I realize that the hours after dusk are lost to me—good only for sleep. Beyond the glow of my fire, the spaces between the trees are pitch-black. The thought of what may lie in wait there until I fall asleep and my flames die leaves me cold.

            I raise my right-hand palm up and think _Please come, my friend. I need someone I trust to watch over me tonight_. It’s amazing how easily it comes to me—my hand fills with a bright purple flare, and with a whoosh my familiar appears, staring at me with placid glowing eyes.

“I can’t believe it actually worked!” I say before hugging the ghostly creature without fear.

            The wolf has substance; it probably wouldn’t be able to bite its foes if it didn’t. Its fur feels exactly like one of Lucia’s rugs, except maybe softer. The contact creates a sensation that raises all the hairs on my skin. It’s not unpleasant, just…different.

            The wolf is tense in the beginning but relaxes quickly. I step back and give it a grin.

            “Right…um—hi again,” I say, “thanks for coming.” Any doubt I have about the wolf’s intelligence disappears with the wolf’s answering nod.

            “I might be calling on you pretty often in the future. I can’t really protect myself if my fire goes out and a wolf comes while I’m sleeping. Can you protect me until morning or—” the wolf dismisses the rest of my question with another shake of his head.

            “Alright—I’ll just go to bed then.” As I begin to fall asleep on the bare ground, the air is filled with the sounds of crackling flame and wild howls. I suppose the howls should be scary, but to me, they bring only comfort.

-x-

            I wake up cold and alone, but thankfully whole and healthy. The sun’s rays are just starting to peak through the leaves—but will have plenty of chances to enjoy the beauty of nature, and right now, I need to get moving. The remnants of my campfire are the only sign I was here, but I am unwilling to leave a trail of ashes to follow behind me. I spend some time burying the ashes in a patch clear of plant life before asking my wolf to appear and heading off.

            I’m under no illusions about my ability to defend myself from the wolves and bears of the Colovian Heartlands. I can’t fire a bow worth a dam, and while I can use a knife, I’ve mostly been using my blade skills against malnourished street rats. As it stands, my wolf does most of my ass-kicking. That’s fine since now that I can summon him on demand, he’s my constant companion.

As we walk northwest, we sneak past obstacles whenever we can. When sneaking isn’t an option, my wolf barrels into the foe from the front, while I stab from behind. We’re detected often enough that I become surer of my blade as I strike.

            There are a few problems. The wolf always vanishes after about half an hour. Summoning the familiar has a price, and it always leaves me feeling as if I were hollow and missing a part of me. I recover, but it takes me the entire length of time he is with me and a few minutes besides. In these few minutes, I am completely vulnerable, and they are the most hated part of my day. Beyond this, the mental prodding I need to bring my companion takes time. Half a minute might be nothing in most situations, but it’s very important when being charged at by a bear.

            Water is another problem. Despite all the green around me, there isn’t a single stream or puddle to drink out of. I could keep drinking my _very_ expensive potions, but it seems wasteful and might even be unhealthy. My thought gets interrupted by a brown streak in the corner of my eye. I turn to see that it’s only a squirrel if an odd one. The little fellow leaps onto a tree right next to me and begins pecking and nipping at the park like a bird. After panicking at the thought of another rabid animal, I realize the squirrel’s nipping has a point.

            Where the squirrel bites, a wound in the soft bark opens, and water drips from the tear and into its mouth. After drinking its fill, the squirrel jumps down and picks up one of the small mushrooms that grow at the bases of trees in the area. It then quickly prances away.

            Looking at the remaining mushrooms I remember that I haven’t eaten anything today. I reason that if the squirrel thinks the mushroom is ok to eat I should be fine. I pluck one and give it to my familiar to smell. It takes a cursory smell before giving a lupine shrug. Taking a gamble I clean off any soil and stick it in my mouth. By some miracle, I don’t die a horrible death with convulsions and drooling. In fact, the mushroom is delicious, somehow meaty and earthy at once. With a stab of my dagger, I manage to extract some watery tree sap. I’m immensely pleased by my discoveries. From now on I know I’m safe from death by thirst and have a way to eat on the go without wasting time on setting up fires and hunting.

            The sun is high in the sky when heat and aching feet force me to take a break. I don’t give myself much time—as soon as I get my wind back I get marching again. I’m on a strict time limit. It was late spring when I escaped the city. If I’m too slow I might arrive at the Jerall Mountains in fall. I’ve heard horror stories of men freezing to death there in the middle of summer. If that’s case, fall would make travel impossible.

            After about four hours of walking, I’m almost bored to tears by the unending sight of trees. I’d like to do anything but simply walk. I turn to my familiar.

            “What do you say to a little hunting?”

-x-

            As I chomp on my food, I sigh. It probably would’ve been better if I hunted before setting up camp for the night. I still need to get moving if I want to cover ground before the sun goes down, and then I need to build another fire to scare off predators.

            After cleaning up, I set off once again. I can see a thinning in the forest ahead of me that tells me I’ve almost joined up with the road. With it, as my guide, I can head north directly now.

            It’s not to be. My familiar’s ears perk at some noise I can’t detect before he runs straight ahead. I am not exactly thrilled to be running out into the open, but I won’t be able to summon the wolf for a while and I can’t afford to be separated from my protector.

            Once again, I realize, my familiar isn’t a normal wolf. Whereas a normal wolf would run off towards a bleeding animal or a potential mate, my wolf leads me to an odd, standing stone. There is something compelling about the strange glowing patterns etched into the rock, and I can’t help but trace them. Touching the stone is much like touching my familiar—it stands all my hairs on end. It also plays a funny trick. The wear of the past days lifts off of me. I am left light and completely sure of myself. The feeling is as foreign and unexpected as to be unnatural. I realize that just like the idiot I am, I’ve touched a strange glowing, magical rock and expected nothing bad to happen. Well at least my luck held out—no vampire, mushroom, or stone has killed me yet.

            “So,” I say, “can we go back to heading north now?” The wolf barks and shakes his head, before running further west. I decide that I may as well follow before some patrol comes by.

-x-

            There is one more day of walking, hunting, and foraging (all while heading in the wrong direction) before the tedium is broken.

            A grey face close to the ground peaks between the branches. There is a scared shriek and the face vanishes.

I’ve been spotted! In just a short time whoever that was will tell someone else, and this forest could be crawling with Thalmor. I am about to start sprinting north before my familiar bites into my shirt and starts dragging me west again.

            “Ok stop it!” I say, trying to rip out of the wolf’s grip. “You’ve been a great help and all— but I’m not letting you drag me again! We’re heading north. No-orth. Do you get it?”

            The wolf lets go suddenly, causing me to fall over. His glance is as impassive as ever.

            “Can you just explain what’s in that direction?” I huff. At his lack of response, I am embarrassed to remember that as a wolf he can’t really tell me with words.

            “Is it at least important?” I say, feeling like an idiot. My familiar nods.

            “All right, I’ll trust you on this. But you better not get me killed.”

-x-

            I guess I was right about the gray person telling someone. Within an hour, just as my familiar fades, I hear the sound of heavy footsteps before five men with blades emerge from the trees. All of their faces are ashy gray, their ears pointed. These are Dunmer—dark elves. One of them (I assume he’s the leader) steps in front of the others and addresses me.

            “My boy came yelling and stirring up the village about a muddy, smelly troll approaching the village. I’m glad to see he was only right about two of the three. I am Redas; I speak for the people of Bleaker’s Way. Who are you?”

            Well, whoever I am I’m certainly not an outlaw with a big juicy price on my head for murdering the Thalmor diplomat’s lover.

            I give my best, most disarming smile, though I know the effect might be ruined by the filth.

            “I thought I saw someone!” I say, affecting delight despite the blades pointed at me. “Your son was half right about the troll bit too—the name’s Andre Lacey. I had a run in with one—I made it out obviously, but not without falling in the thing’s shit pile. Lost all my belongings—meager as they were.”

            “And what brings you here Andre?” says the elf, his ruby eyes narrowed. Gods even I had no idea what I was doing here. Finding an excuse would take divine intervention—oh that wasn’t a bad idea.

            “Oh me…I’ve long wished to make a journey to the way shrines. I thought I could avoid bandits by not following the roads. Seems I failed to take wildlife into account.” I point at myself and laugh self-deprecatingly at my state.

“Ah, a pilgrim!” I am sure the Dunmer are about to lower their swords when another voice (tinkling just like Alinell’s, but resonant where the high elf’s was brittle, and soft where hers was sharp) cuts in.

            “I greet you in truth, Anton Outlaw, once Anton Sneak-thief, who was once Anton No-name.” The she-elf who steps into the clearing isn’t exactly young, though calling her middle-aged seems a stretch. Her dress is made of cheap wool in muted colors; simple leather shoes adorn her feet. Her hair is just as restrained—tied up in the manner of working women. Somehow she must have gotten her hands on a Thalmor wanted-poster.

How she could have found one in the middle of nowhere beats me, but as the mers’ friendly smiles vanish, and I know my welcome’s run out. Redas’s sword swings high and I tense to jump away. The she-elf is faster than both of us—a white light flies from her hand and into the mer’s chest. He stills and lowers his sword, a dopey smile on his face. The effect lasts for but a moment before he sends a bemused glare at the witch.

            “Satha! Why did you stop me? This man is a threat to—,” she holds up her hand, forestalling his words.

            “He is no enemy of ours. It is…will be an honor to host him in our village and you must understand this,” she says. “The five of you must promise to tell no one of Anton’s…occupation. Ensure he is treated as a guest of honor. He may be trusted.”

            “If you say he can be trusted, I shall trust him,” says Redas. “I will do my best to see him comfortable and tell no one of his true nature.” The other four Dunmer quickly follow his example and agree.

            “What do you know of his true nature?” says the she-elf with great amusement. “You know only hints of how he used to feed himself.”

            “I suppose you have a point,” says the mer before turning to address me. “Come with us, Anton.”

There’s no way in Oblivion he can convince me to do that.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I say. “You’ve gone from asking paranoid questions to inviting me into your homes, to trying to kill me, and back to inviting me in about five minutes. You’re obviously crazy.” _and trying to capture me until the Thalmor can get here._

“Anton, I will not let a battered, filthy man wander for miles in the wilderness if I have a choice.”

“I don’t know where you got Anton from,” I say, trying to sound as confused and upset as possible. “My name is Andre.” The mer rolls his eyes.

“If Satha says you are Anton then you are Anton. Now stop being stubborn and come along.”

“Look just because some witch—”

“I am really more of a sorceress…” interjects the she-elf.

“Whatever! Opens her fetching mouth”—the elves turn to each other in horror as if I cursed out the divines in a chapel—“doesn’t mean—” Redas opens his mouth, probably to tear me a new one when Satha cuts in again.

“I think we’ve heard enough! You are a strange man passing through our home in strange times. You cannot blame Redas and his men for trying to assess the danger you pose. You cannot blame me for using my powers to aid them, and you cannot blame me for what _she_ did.”

How does she know about—“What’re you—” The witch doesn’t let me finish.

“If you choose not to come with us, you will die north of here, and soon. You will be cold, afraid, and clueless as to how to prevent your fate. I know this as I know your name.” She says all of this like she’s reading it from a book, like it’s already happened. “I’m offering you help.”

Whether or not she’s making all of this up isn’t really important. If she’s really serious about capturing me, I don’t have much of a chance against a magic-user and five armed Dark Elves. I give in. My body loosens; I set my stance to be less aggressive; I smile. If I’m going to be a prisoner, I’m not going to be a whining s’wit. It’s better to focus on escaping anyway.

“Those are some heavy stakes,” I say with a smile. “When I compare”—I raise one hand—“death”—I raise the other—“ and being a guest in a sweet little village in the woods”—I pretend to weigh them against each other—“mhmm…I think I’ll be coming with you” My shift in attitude confuses the elves, which is almost definitely good.

            “Right…” says Redas bemusedly, “You can stay at the inn.” He looks me up and down and sighs. “I suppose we’ll have to make room and board free for you. Girmyn might be entertained by doing more than serving drinks. When Satha says the danger has passed, we’ll send you on your way with what supplies we can spare.”

            “He’ll leave next week,” says the witch with confidence.

            So I have a week to escape. Whether that’s enough time depends on how smart my captors are.

Damn that wolf for leading me here!

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

End Notes

Yes I know the dark elf stuff seems like a tangent but the folks of Bleaker’s Way fill a few roles:

  1.     They explain how the Dragonborn knows a few spells at the start of the game
  2.     They are some of the first people Anton meets outside of the Imperial City and they help him form opinions on important subjects he’s never thought of before, such as religion, race relations, and sexuality
  3.     They help him experience live as a law-abiding person, with no need to cheat or steal



As to how the wolf is guarding Anton at night when he only for thirty minutes at a time—he stays with Anton until he falls asleep and then spends the rest of the time killing off and scaring anything in the area before he vanishes.

 

Post Script

I keep missing dumb errors in writing and constant proofreading has completely paralyzed my progress with this story. A beta would be fantastic

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wolf is not guarding Anton as he sleeps. He just waits for Anton to pass out and then spends the remaining time killing everything a certain radius from the campsite.


	3. Morning in the Village

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Anton is traumatized again. but has the opportunity to realize things are not as bleak as he fears

The Villainous Village  
The village isn't exactly small. There are maybe fifteen adults, counting my guards.   
Most of the elves look about my age, too old to wear diapers and too young to be trusted with anything important.   
They’re broad and strong for elves, (who are always slim). They're also very same.   
I’ve seen every race there is, from Redguard to Khajiit, but I’ve never been the only Breton, the only human. It’s...intimidating. A young boy catches my attention. He pulls and yanks at his mother’s hold to get closer to us, his blood red eyes wide open in excitement.  
“It’s the troll I saw! It’s the troll mommy; can we get closer—please?” I figure seeing strangers must be a real treat around here.   
We pass by the crowd and keep walking until we reach a large building with a small sign. It reads: 'Welcome to the Goodwill Inn.'  
I'm completely convinced that this place is ridiculous.  
There are no paths to Bleaker’s Way, and it takes at least a week to get here from Bruma or the Imperial City if you use Imperial Roads. Why is their inn so godsdamn big? Redas walks inside and brings the inn's owner out to meet me.  
“Well sera,” says the innkeeper to Redas,“you know tonight's complicated. If you brought him tomorrow it wouldn't have been an issue, but it's the Gray Feast."  
Hollowed feast? That sounds like a holiday, and those mean drunk guards, lazy marks, and distracted crowds...perfect.  
"I'm sure my daughter's boy can keep him busy during those hours," says Redas, waving the issue away and making my heart sink.   
A watcher will make things more difficult, and if it’s the leader’s grandson, hurting him might make my stay much less pleasant…but only if I fail.   
"Satha claims he needs to be in Bleaker's Way, and you know the strength of her words.”  
Why is this lady so influential here?  
"Eh-- I suppose it’ll be good to use the beds in this era. He’d better make use of the bath and change before he even dreams of stepping foot inside.”  
“Of course Girmyn, I hope you don’t mind leading him to the tub?”  
“No, I suppose not.”  
“Wait a moment,” says Satha. She reaches for my arm but hesitates.  
“You have a great potential for magic that I don’t wish to see squandered. I will meet you tomorrow morning for our first lesson.” Her piece said, she turns around and just leaves.  
“I’m looking forward to it,” I yell to her back. I have no idea what that’s about, but I’m not going anywhere near her if I can help it. When she’s far away enough I mutter, “Daft know-it-all witch.”  
Girmyn the inn-keeper snorts.  
“You didn’t just…?” he asks, his brows rising.  
“Nope, I definitely didn’t call her a know-it-all witch,” I say with a grin. The Dunmer shrugs.  
“Maybe you should have, it’s true enough,” he says. “By the way, I hope you don’t mind bathing outdoors.”   
“Not really.” I don’t bathe much anyway, so I don’t know enough to have any preferences. What difference could it make?  
-x-  
Bathing outdoors makes a big difference.  
That’s not really the first thing I figure out. The first thing is that bathing is awesome. The outdoor tub behind the inn is meant to be for the entire village, but right now I’m the only one using it.   
Girmyn proudly told me that the tub has real plumbing—it’s filled with water piped in from underground and heated with magic. However the hot water gets here, it’s heavenly, and I feel less like an animal as the dirt washes away.  
I'm probably clean by now, but I'm also too comfy to get up. That’s when I see wide, red eyes peeking through the trees  
Attached to them is Dark-elf around my age. He’s almost completely still, his form caught in mid-motion. His sharp brows are softened in surprise, his lips slightly parted, his head tilted a bit to the left. A bow hangs loosely in his grip  
After a few seconds, he's still staring and I'm fetching pissed. Do all elves think my body is some kind of show?   
The age, the coloring, heck even the gender is wrong—and yet— the peeping tom unmistakably elvish. It’s enough to make me think of the last time I was naked before an elf—in a hotel room, naked, afraid, trapped.

It's too much.   
"Hey, you!"I yell. The elf jumps a bit. “What in Oblivion are you looking at?”   
His face is torn between embarrassment and shame—which would make me feel better…if he wasn’t still rooted in place.  
“That’s it,” I mutter. I get ready to kill the s'wit. I don't want to summon my familiar, it's not like I trust him after the stunt he pulled. For this guy, it might be worth the risk.   
I blink…and the pervert is gone.  
I try to spot him between the trees, but it’s useless. Collapsing back into the bath I heave out a grunt.   
Bath time really isn’t fun anymore.   
I get up and grab the clothes Girmyn left me.   
The sleeves and pant-legs were obviously ripped up to shorten them. The inn-keeper must have needed to rip up clothes meant for a very tall mer to fit my size.  
Damn the skinny Dunmer.  
-x-  
Girmyn looks up from the vegetables he’s chopping and nods before doing a double take.  
“Anton, is that you? You look different when you’re not caked in filth.”  
“I hope it’s an improvement,” I say with a grin. The elf shrugs.  
“Maybe, though your color is very off-putting.” I feel my grin slipping as he delivers the insult without shame.  
“I’ve got perfectly normal skin for a human,” I say through gritted teeth.  
“Girmyn nods absentmindedly and keeps chopping.  
“I’ll trust you on that, I’ve never seen a human before—comes of living here for most of my life.”  
“If you have an ash pit I can roll around in and some lemons to squeeze in my eyes, I can try to make you more comfortable.” I smile widely--enough to show teeth.  
Girmyn doesn't even look up.  
“Hmm. No need, though there's something else you can do for me.” Girmyn finishes his knife work and dumps the vegetables into a pot. “You might have heard earlier—there’s going to be an event held here this afternoon… the Gray Feast.  
“Yeah and…?” Does he think I’m deaf or dumb? I couldn’t have missed it, being three feet away when he mentioned it.  
“It’s not exactly a happy holiday…no, that’s not the right way to explain it." The elf sighs as he thinks.   
"Look...it's not meant for everyone--only for my generation and the one before it. The children do not participate—and they never will. Eventually, the Gray Feast will never occur again.”  
That’s nice, but I don’t understand what that has to do with me.  
“A visitor like you,” Girmyn continues, “should not be a part of it…no offense.” Oddly enough I am a bit annoyed at being banned from a holiday I’ve never even heard of. Their weird practices are none of my business, though.   
I wonder I can avoid having a babysitter if I play along with the whole ‘honored guest’ thing.  
"Sure, I'll just hang out outside the inn, just tell me when I have to leave...and come back." I almost forget to add the last part.  
"Nonsense--It seems rude to leave you to yourself. Come seven o'clock, young Kylder will be by to show you around."

 

Something is really weird. Kylder must be the grandson Redas mentioned before. Why someone so important stuck watching a criminal? Why keep me at the inn and not a jail cell? Why bother giving me a bath or promising magic lessons?  
It makes sense if they actually want to help me--but that makes no sense period. The money on my head versus what the Thalmor do to people who harbor fugitives isn't exactly a fair contest.  
"You two should get on well. Few know the forest like that boy.” Meaning: he can track you so don’t try anything. “You seem wild enough to like that sort of thing. Redas reckons you're about the same age too."  
“Yeah I’m sure we’ll be the best friends in no time,” I say. Gods this village sucks.  
-x-  
Girmyn's cooking is much nicer than anything I've tasted in holding cells before. The bedding is great too—at least after the two of us spend hours making the guest rooms usable.  
The warm fuzzy feelings I'm getting for my captors ends when I meet my jailor for the evening.  
-x-  
“Anton, says Girmyn pointing to a nervous looking Dunmer, “this is—”  
“We’ve met,” I say with a grin. Hi again, you fetching pervert. “Let me just get my things and we’ll head out.”  
-x-

 

The second Anton and Kylder are out of sight of the inn.  
The elf opens his mouth to say "I just want to say I'm really so--"  
I break into a full out sprint to the forest.  
I hear, "Hey! Come back, it's not safe!" and can't help but smile.  
One hour later…  
“What in Oblivion is wrong with you!” yells the angry and confused elf. He tries climbing up the tree to reach me, so I pull an empty potion bottle out of my bag and mime throwing it at him. He looks at the bottle, then my face. I grin and fling it as hard as I can. He easily avoids it, barely slowed at all.  
I keep throwing. Each crackle of broken glass as the bottles hit the ground is a failure. This isn't working.  
I've picked up a few skills running from guards. Making quick exits is one of them.  
With a desperate leap, I jump towards the next tree, catch a thick branch halfway down.  
Once again, the elf follows me without a problem.   
-x-  
Sometime later…  
Kylder is nimbler, stronger, and more importantly—smarter than I expected.  
“Look, I know you’re mad at me, but just come back!” I'm not far from the village, thanks to Kylders odd talent for herding me just the right way…  
Time for a new plan. When flight fails, it's time for fight.  
First, I move our chase onto flat ground. Being lithe and tall, the elf starts gaining on me.  
I turn around and sprint madly in his direction, wiping off the grin growing on the s'wit's face. He’s too slow to react. I slam my fist into his gut and knock him off his feet. I fall with him, pinning his arms above his head with one hand and ready to deliver a knockout punch with the other.  
His eyes widen as if seeing me for the first time.  
“Please don’t! The bath—it was an accident, I was just surprised.” What?  
“You think this is about you,” I ask slowly, “peeking on me?”  
“Well, why else would you hate me so much? This is the first time we’ve talked outside of you yelling from a distance.” He spits out, trying to shake out of my grasp. It won’t work. As a human, my bones and muscles are denser than his, making it too difficult to buck me off.  
“You think I’m an idiot don’t you?" I ask. "I hate you because you're my fetching guard! I’m not gonna let you keep me busy until the Thalmor come to drop off my bounty." Kylder tries to protest but I muffle his mouth with my hand.  
"Save it," I growl. "What kind of 'guide' keeps following and herding someone obviously trying to get away--especially after glass starts flying.”   
The elf keeps struggling and trying to talk around my hand. I sigh and let go of his mouth.  
“You...you think we’re…” Kylder gets out, breathing hard.  
"Look, my grandfather told me to take care of you and show you around--not to let you run into the middle of a forest at night on your own, you paranoid spawn of Sheogorath!  
Second, of all we'd never work with the—”   
That could be possible but then again, I’m not taking any chances. I pull out my dagger, ready to club him across the skull with the hilt  
He screams blood red eyes fixed on my knife.   
"I'm not Thalmor...I'd never be--please I'm begging you, I can prove it!"  
Quickly changing my plan, I hold the blade to his throat as I think. I don’t need him trying something smart.  
If Kylder is telling the truth, I'm about to make a huge mistake. If he’s lying, he'll lead me into a trap--one I can't break out of.  
If I knock the perv out it'll take maybe three hours before he's up. (Elves are weird that way, it's hard to take out their minds).  
Once he's in the village a messenger will get sent to tell the Imperial guards by the highway my last location. That's another three hours.  
One hour after that and someone will figure out where I'm headed.  
Then it's a quick horse ride and the border is shut with guardsmen coming out of every nook and cranny.  
I'll make it two days tops. Then would come years; golden monsters just like Alinell sawing skin and carving organs, breaking my mind a little every day until I die—and that could take a while.  
High elves live for hundreds of years, and they don't like it when their toys break too quickly. At least, that's what the rumors say.  
I've never met a rumor that wasn't a little true. I'm pretty sure Alinell's boy toy might hire some wizards so I can suffer after I die too.  
It should be an easy choice, but it's not. I press it into the skin of his neck, but can't bring myself to cut.

The color drains from the elf's face. His whole body shivers. He's scared, but he doesn't cry or try any more begging. His mouth purses in anger. He looks me in the eye...and something shifts.  
His chin lifts, making his neck more exposed while keeping his head high. His lips shift into a sad smile.  
I recognize it right away--it's Lucia's look, the one she gives me, whenever she remembers who I am, of what I do to make ends meet.   
The s’wit is pitying me.  
I hate it. Pity mixes 'I understand why you do what you do' with 'I truly feel for sorry for you being you' and a big helping of 'I'm better than you'.  
No one gets to decide I'm less for making choices that aren't choices in the first place.   
To kill or let live was a choice I've had to make before, but I've always chosen to keep my hands clean. I used to think I always would.   
Most likely, I'm going to get captured anyway, and I'd prefer spending my free moments not being a murderer.  
Besides, it takes a certain kind of person to pity me after I screw them over. Lucia's the only other one I've ever met.  
Already regretting it, I pull him up with one hand, I keep my knife to his throat.  
“Well Sera Guide, show me this proof,” I say with a grin. Or it’ll be the last stop on the tour, one way or another  
-x-  
"It's just in here," says Kylder pointing to a small cave entrance.  
"Lead the way then." This close, I can see the goosebumps on his shuddering frame. I hate being this whole situation: this forest is the elf’s home, and that leaves me at a big disadvantage.  
As we step inside I wait for a trap to spring...and then I drop my knife.   
Inside is an honest to divines altar to Talos, (just like the one Gunnar thinks he's kept hidden from me). Behind it is a statue of a fierce warrior—who I guess must be the god himself.  
No village with a shrine like this would cooperate with the Thalmor. To invite them close and risk them finding signs of Talos worship, well… you’d have better chances if you jumped off the roof of the Imperial Palace.  
The people of Bleaker's Way are Talos Worshippers and they're in the middle of nowhere, safe from the Thalmor. I am with them, so I am...  
"I'm safe." I shatter.  
The world tilts. I hit the ground hard, dragging the elf bound in my grip with me. The dunmer yelps, obviously expecting an attack. When it doesn't come, he relaxes.  
I can't breathe, at least not well, and I'm gasping and heaving. My arms shake, and the taste of salt makes me realize I'm sobbing my heart out on my hostage.  
Eventually a shaky hand pets my head.  
"By the nine," Kylder whispers, "...what happened to you?"  
The feeling of his fingers is nice at first, but then a new realization forces me to pull away from his (pretty lax) hold.   
The new position lets me see that Kylder is a wreck. His clothes are disheveled (and wet where I sobbed on them). There are branches in his hair, and nasty looking scrapes everywhere else. He looks exhausted—even his ears are drooping.  
"Sorry...sniff...about your shirt—and the whole knife thing...sniff...and the bottles," I say  
“It’s alright, if the Thalmor were after me I’d be pretty scared too,” he says. His sudden smile surprises me. “I guess that means we’re even...you know with the bath thing.”  
“Yeah...no not really, you’re still a creepy peeping tom.”  
Kylder starts making this weird noise. It sounds sort of like a choking giant rat.  
I’m about to tell him to quit it—and realize he's laughing.   
The whole situation is so messed up, and I can't help but think it's funny too.  
I start laughing too. Whenever the giggling stops, somehow we just crack up again.  
Eventually, we do quiet down, lying flat on our backs in a Shrine.  
-x-  
Some time later…

"That was really cool," says Kylder, breaking the silence, "the way you ran. I've never seen anything like it. You just went over everything, that tree was the only time you stood still."  
The hint of a question makes me turn to the elf.  
I learned it outrunning guards, is what I don't tell him. But there's something else that needs to be cleared up.  
"Speaking of all that, are you touched in the mind or something? I could have killed you with some of my stunts. Why didn't you just give up?"  
"Eh"-he scratches his head-"I don't really know. First, it was because I thought you were mad at me for the bath thing and I didn’t want to let you run off without saying sorry. Then it was because I thought you'd really hurt yourself alone in the woods.  
After you got really serious...I guess it was just the thrill of the hunt."  
"That was really stupid," I say flatly. "It's a good thing you have skills to back it up. I could never tell where you'd come from next."  
"I guess...I've always spent a lot of time there. I'm a hunter, like my father was."  
"Was?"  
"A troll killed him last year."  
"Oh.". Was it too much to hope he retired?  
The Dunmer goes mum, and story time is over before it can really begin  
"Why so quiet—keep talking," I say to the elf.  
-x-  
He does keep talking. First, it’s about the forest. It’s odd to realize that there’s more than one way to looks at a heap of trees.  
I look at the Great Forest the same way I look at alcoves, dark alleys, and bushes—as places to hide that might contain some nasty surprises. Necessary but not exactly comfortable.  
To my Dunmer friend/former hostage, the forest is home.  
He tells me about sunbeams through leaves, about soft grass and fairy rings, about birdsong.  
He tells me what it’s like to know his work brings food and hides to the village. He talks about his home’s constant struggle with the dangerous parts of nature: spriggans, trolls, and hungry wolves in giant packs.

Kylder turns the forest, something I couldn’t give a flying fetch about, into something with value.  
“When I was younger,” he tells me, “my cousins would say that I should have been born a Wood Elf, and that Arkay made a mistake. Maybe somewhere there’s a Wood Elf who blasts trees full of flames by accident and likes swords more than bows.”  
He smiles but it rings false somehow.  
There’s something horrible about those words. ‘You’re a mistake, you don’t belong here,’ is what they mean. It’s rotten—and creepy.  
Could a god place you where you don’t belong, or make you become someone you don’t want to be.  
“Were your cousins always fetchin bilge rats?"  
Kylder chuckles.  
"No, we just argued sometimes—like most families. And it wasn’t all of them of course, Everyone in this town is my cousin is some way or another."  
"You're all one family?"  
"Well...technically. We're all Dalvilus—not by blood though.  
It used to be just my grandfather with uncle Ardas, Aunty Melyani, and Satha. None of them wanted to marry each other, so Bleaker’s Way was doomed to die out."  
"Why did they change their minds?"  
-x-  
Apparently, they didn't.  
Kylder tells me that when the Red Mountain exploded (when Morrowind became a lot like Oblivion) there were suddenly lots of orphans to choose from.   
Satha was the first Dalvilu to adopt, her family members, enchanted by the idea of having families of their own, followed suit.  
"There used to be another family here,” he tells me, “but grandpa and the others who would know don't really talk about it."  
-x-  
I end up learning quite a bit about my ex-hostage.   
His mother works hard, taking care of crops and making clothes from the furs Kylder collects. His grandfather Redas is more like the village's grandfather and tries to help everyone. He's rarely home because of that. Redas helped a lot after his son in law died, but once Kylder's mom was out of mourning, her pride prevented her from taking any more of his charity. Kylder's little brother is Tadadil, who everyone calls Tada. The boy is apparently too restless for lessons, and Kylder's worried that he can't read yet.  
"I could try to teach him," I say without even knowing why.  
Kylder's looks at me curiously, maybe surprised I can read, before grinning.   
"It's not like it could hurt. Nothing else has worked. We could meet up at the inn and then we could go hunting together."  
The idea of hunting has the elf practically vibrating before he remembers a small detail.  
"Do you have a bow? I'll get you that if you need one--"  
"I don't use bows. I'd rather just summon my wolf to take care of a deer."  
"You can summon a familiar?" His eyes widen. "I'm glad you didn't use him on me then."  
"I wouldn't have. He led me to your village, so I wasn't exactly thrilled with the beast. I didn't trust him to fight for me without doing his own thing ."  
"I guess you can now, right?"  
"Yeah... I guess I can."  
Saying my familiar and I have gone through a lot is an understatement. Knowing I can still count on him...it's kinda priceless.  
-x-  
Later, when it's time to head out, I take another good look at the chapel.  
"Do you think it would be okay to have your brother's lesson here tomorrow?"  
"Sure, I guess. Teaching Tada anything is sort of like going to war, so Talos might be the best god for the job."  
"Just bring me and your brother here tomorrow after lunch...and bring me a crap ton of books too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arkay is the god of life and death. In this story, I decided that Arkay was usually responsible for the circumstances of most people's births.


End file.
